History Inc
by apikale-wahine
Summary: A simple school project leads to stunning revelations about the gang's ancestors... who bear a striking resemblance to the current generation.  Please read and review.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Okay, let me bang these out one by one:**

**--Disclaimer: I do not own Scooby Doo.**

**--This story was not intended to have any relation to my other ones. Right now I can't think of anything that would necessarily be inconsistent... but I want to clarify that if some things don't match up, ignore my other stories.**

**--I might make mistakes here. I'll try to be reasonably accurate, but try to enjoy the story even if it's not entirely historically correct.**

**--I'm going to rate this K+ for now; I'm not sure how violent the battle scenes might become. I could change the rating to T later; I don't know.**

**--Sorry if this story seems kind of one-sided. I mean, I've learned about other views on the American Revolution in history class, and I agree some of them make sense. But try to get past that... I'm not trying to offend anyone... just in case anyone reading this is from the UK or Canada.**

**--And finally, understand none of the ships I support actually happen in this story, at least not to the historical versions of Mystery Inc... or they do appear but it ends brokenheartedly... just warning you. The reason will dawn on you sooner or later, if it hasn't already. It probably also will occur to you why there must be some ship... I'm not gonna say any more.**

**Prologue:**

"So let's talk a little about your grades for these nine weeks."

Mrs. Bennet's voice snapped the class to attention. Nobody had been paying attention to the slide show, other than Velma Dinkley (of course). Even Velma had been somewhat bored with it. It was seventh period on Friday. What could one expect students to do with a slide show about what happened a century or two ago?

Grades, however, were an entirely different ballpark.

"For the most part, everyone in this class is passing. Unfortunately, there is only one 'A' amongst all of you. And I don't think I need to point out the correlation between that 'A' and the student who actually pays attention in this class and takes notes!"

Velma slumped slightly as the teacher read her name. Then Mrs. Bennet went back to her speech.

"Your junior year is the year you should all be taking schoolwork seriously. College is not far off for any of you. At least, I hope you all make it to college. I have not been seeing as much effort as I would have liked. Frankly, I am disappointed."

The class looked at each other.

"I will, however, give all of you a chance to pull your scores up. Here's a little extra-credit assignment to be handed in Monday. I expect excellence from all of you."

She strode to the back and pulled out a poster. "This," she explained, "is my family tree. Your project is to do some research into your own family histories and learn about your ancestors during any of the events we have discussed in this class. You may write a report, or you may tell the class about it. If you do not hand this in or present on Monday, I will give no extra credit points. And may I warn you, Norville," she said as Shaggy cringed at her use of his "official" name. "If Scooby 'eats' this assignment, I assure you that your grade and the Titanic can keep each other company, understood?"

Shaggy gulped and nodded.

"Good. Have a fun weekend, class!" she told them as the bell rang.

Right. Make someone do a boatload of research over the weekend, then tell him to have fun. Why not just chuck him into the swamp and tell him not to get his feet wet?

Mystery Inc. left and went to their respective houses.

And to their respective attics...

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Mystery Inc. met at their favorite table in the student lounge before school Monday morning.

"Like, how long did you guys spend working on that thing for Mrs. Bennet?" Shaggy asked Daphne and Fred. Velma hadn't quite arrived yet.

"Well... I was really afraid I'd spend my whole weekend working on it... but then I came across a gold mine in an old trunk my parents inherited and I was done after a couple hours."

"Like, me too!" Shaggy exclaimed.

"Wait... you mean you actually did yours?" Freddie asked, pulling his report out of his backpack.

"Yeah, I did mine."

"Oh, you mean your project?" Velma asked as she wandered in. "I finished mine maybe an hour after I found something really neat in my parents' library."

"Why did you do a project?" Daphne asked. "You've already got an 'A'."

"I've got a ninety-four; that's barely an 'A'," Velma explained. "Anyway, I found this book and I thought I may as well do a project on it, since I came across it so easily."

Freddie smiled. "Wow... looks like we all got lucky. Come on, let's see 'em!"

All at once, each of the four friends plopped his or her findings down on the table.

They gasped.

One could have sworn each lay down a copy of the exact same maroon, leather-bound journal... almost, anyway. The only difference between the books was the names on the first page of each diary.

Norville Rogers.

Frederick Jones.

Daphina Harriot.

Elma Whitefield.

"Jinkies," Velma whispered, as an eerie chill gripped each friend in turn. The others could only nod. There was some connection between the diaries; they just knew it.

Trembling, each turned to the first entry in the journal he or she had contributed.

Each entry contained the same exact date in the upper right-hand corner.

_January 4, 1774._


	2. Elma

**A/N: You would be surprised at how little of this is made up, as far as colonial sexism is concerned. You will find later parts of Elma's story are based upon actual historical figures, but to state which ones they are might be to spoil the story. Then again, the main person she is based off of is not particularly well-known, so I'll say the name and you can look it up if you want to: Deborah Sampson.**

**--------------------------------------------------------------**

Unsure what to do to break the silence, Velma picked up her several-greats-grandmother's journal and began reading.

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_January 4,1774_

_Today Father presented this journal to me, as a Christmas gift. He also gave one to Norville, the new apprentice who arrived just before the holiday commenced. Whether Norville intends to actually write in his I am skeptical; he does not particularly enjoy reading or writing. He does, however, have great admiration for Father and thus might try to please him by making use of this gift._

_The weather has been quite lovely; often early January does fool us as if it were spring. I suppose I should enjoy it for the little time it lasts. My dear friend Daphina from the Harriot plantation paid me a Christmas visit yesterday; she hinted that she had to arrive home in time for her suitor, Frederick. I do believe my friends are in love; however I find it simply frustrating that she had to be off so soon, leaving me with only my father and Norville for company. Not that either is unpleasant, but I am inclined to wonder if they wouldn't rather me have something with which to occupy myself other than to intrude upon their conversations. It seems that Father was hoping that the acquiring of an apprentice would give him the son he never had. I am an only child; my mother died in labor with my sister, who lived eight days. I was twelve._

_I truly do frequently miss my mother. She understood my love of books, which are my only pasttime when I am not pestering the men. The entire county thinks it most unbecoming that I spend so much time in study, but my mother never minded. When Father could afford it, Mother often persuaded him to purchase new ones for me. I have read the Bible eight times in its entirety, and most of our other volumes four or five times. Father seldom listened to my pleas for more, but he was quite fond of Mother, who could motivate him into any action she desired. When she desired books, books arrived, somehow or other. Perhaps it was because of his love for her that he did not remarry following her death. The neighbors have frequently commented that perhaps the provision of a stepmother would "cure the unwomanliness in me."_

_Daphina seems to be my only friend who does not think me odd for my love of reading. Every other friend of ours frequently informs me that my behavior is and always has been too very much out of place for a woman. When I was a young child, and the men would socialize about discussing political matters, I was always the last to pick up on the women's cues to leave the room. That statement is only partially true; I pretended to miss that cue. I found the wise words of the men intriguing, the complexity of politics (which according to them should be kept from women's ears and uncomplex brains) fascinating. I still do so, only now I am not so young and cannot pretend I have not learned proper social customs._

_Yet still I listen at the door._


	3. Frederick

Velma finished reading. She looked up.

"Well?" she asked, uncertain.

"Well what?" Shaggy asked.

"What were the others doing on that day?" Velma inquired. This was so unbelievable... her ancestors and her friends' ancestors had known each other?

Fred, tired of the awkwardness, picked up the journal of his great-great-etc.-grandfather.

He began to read.

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_January 4, 1774_

_I arrived at the Harriot plantation safe and sound, although later than expected. Daphina appeared not to mind in the slightest; this was the first I had seen of her in all of Christmastide, as I had been visiting with my cousins near Boston. She gave me this journal as a gift; she found it quite charming, to the point where she purchased another identical one for herself from that general store owned by Whitefield. I found it quite flattering that she would wish to bestow an object of such affection upon me, for I know that she is quite the object of my affection._

_We corresponded late into the night, in that little parlor which could not be made at all the more charming should the King himself have chance to furnish it, and which would have been every bit as comfortable were it simply Daphina and I sitting upon a plain dirt floor. Indeed, the only reason for us to retire for the evening was that the chaperone, Mr. Harriot himself, grew fatigued and did not wish to accompany us into the early hours of the morning. Painfully short though our conversation may have been, Daphina's voice continues to speak in my thoughts. Fancy that ability, for a girl to speak with her suitor without saying a word, while he cannot express even with his lips that which he really wishes to say to her._

_What I really wished to tell Daphina was the incident of which my cousins informed me not long after I arrived at their residence. This was the occurrence of a certain tea party in Boston... one which was not a party at all but a revolt. Several Bostonians, many of which call themselves the Sons of Liberty, disguised themselves as Indians and protested the tea taxes by throwing chests of tea into the harbor. An extreme motion, I am well aware. I am inclined to doubt that I ever would have partaken in such destruction of property... and yet I do not quite feel I can bring myself to express that they were entirely in the wrong. That is one reason why I did not speak with Daphina on this matter. I do not wish to view her reaction until I am capable of assessing my own._

_Also, I would not have dared speak of it while Mr. Harriot was in the room. He is entirely loyal to our King; a Tory if there ever were one. He would undoubtedly abhor news of such a blatant protest and make further conversation most unpleasant. Perhaps, if I can get a word to Daphina while he is not present... I hope I can. Occasionally I feel as though I am treading upon a scarcely frozen pond while I am around Mr. Harriot. Any lapse of judgment could have a horrendous outcome. Why this is I am not sure. I have yet to utter any words or display any action that would prove anything to the contrary of loyalty to our King. I will admit, my thoughts do not always support him... perhaps were it not for my love for Daphina and utmost desire to please her father, I would feel differently. But I cannot dwell on these thoughts too much longer or I might have ones I do not like._

_So until tomorrow happens and I have more to chronicle within this book, I shall say good night. I know of a girl who shall rest in my dreams, as I rest in her house._


	4. Daphina

Freddie blushed all of a sudden. He stopped reading. He looked across the table at Daphne, who was likewise embarrassed.

"Aw... that was sweet!" Velma exclaimed, putting on an entirely fake naive facade, as if the entry had not reminded her of anyone she knew. "Are you going to read the rest?"

"That's it..." Fred muttered. "For this entry, anyway..."

"I... think I can pick up where he left off," Daphne offered, coming around. She picked up her own book and began.

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_January 4, 1774_

_After possessing this journal for nearly two days, I found great difficulty in waiting until this moment to commence writing. I decided not to write anything at all until I had placed Frederick's own journal into his hands. He seemed greatly appreciative. Had Father not been in the room, I would almost suspect Frederick would like to have kissed me. Perhaps then we should be grateful he was there, for to separate our passions tantalizes me so. This wall between us as I write this is the thinnest in the house, and yet it is far too thick for either of our liking... or loving. The advantage to its being thin is that I can hear Frederick's quill scratching in the book I gave him... whilst pretending he cannot hear my own._

_Now that Frederick is here, I feel as though Christmastide has truly begun. Only without his company is it ever winter. Fancy that... Christmas in the middle of summer, yet that is exactly what I can feel in the company of such a lover as him. He vaguely hinted before he left for Boston that he would like to marry me someday. We both know it to be the only logical course of action, when two people are so woefully and wonderfully in love!_

_And yet at times I wonder. I wonder not in the slightest of our love, for it is true and divine and I know this love better than a child her mother. What I wonder is about Father. Father has yet to state specifically any grievance against Frederick; yet he seems to cringe slightly at my mention of him. One time, I almost succeeded in soliciting a reason for his coldness. Father responded in the typical manner, which bothers me and horrifies my dear friend Elma, who likely receives this response much more often in her home, where her only family is her father and his apprentice. Father responded by telling me that it is a political matter much too difficult for my pretty head to comprehend. It is times like these when I wish not to be pretty. I know Frederick would not care._

_It is my belief that Frederick is already dimly (or possibly profoundly) aware of Father's feelings. I saw my suitor's face as Father sentenced us to bed. Perhaps Frederick is aware of Father's habit of dismissing a situation by claiming fatigue. Father stated it was much too late to be up talking; I was well aware of the time and the fact that Father was growing tired not physically but of Frederick's presence. Why does he dislike him so?_

_It matters not at present, however. Father is at least reasonably civil while Frederick is here and has provided him with ample hospitality, granted at my request. What Father is unaware of is that by sending us to bed, he has enabled us to dream freely of each other in complete absence of a chaperone. Our hearts, at least, may accompany each other for as long as they desire._

_I love Frederick. As such, I shall end this correspondence with mere paper and slip away to the place where people in love always turn up._

_Pleasant dreams._


	5. Norville

This was too much for Velma to pretend any longer. She grinned from ear to ear.

"Go on," she suggested. "Why don't you read the next entry?"

Before Daphne could respond, Fred quickly pointed out, "Shaggy hasn't read yet. Let him have a turn."

"Like that's all right..." Shaggy muttered. "Keep on reading, Daphne."

"Shaggy," Velma told him warningly. "Judging by your typical projects, I bet you didn't write a report on this, right?" Shaggy nodded, as Velma was positive he would. "So the only way for you to get credit for this is to present it to the class, like it or not. Now you can practice on us, or--"

Shaggy sighed. "Like... all right... but mine is... different from you guys'."

"Different how?"

"Like different as in I could actually understand most of what my ancestor had to say!"

He flipped open his tome and showed them what he meant.

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_January 4, 1774_

_I've been with Mr. Whitefield for almost two weeks now. Like I never knew working in a general store could be so hard! The first day I got here I spilled an entire barrel of tobacco all over the shop floor. Like it's a good thing Mr. Whitefield has a good sense of humor or I'd be dead meat! I used to be apprenticed to a silversmith... can you believe it? He didn't have a sense of humor at all. That's why he got rid of me... that and there was the tea kettle incident... I won't say anything else about that. But he also said something about my "careless and casual manner." I don't think he liked the way I talk. He said it was too informal._

_Even though Mr. Whitefield puts up with me (he even gave me this journal as a Christmas present) I sometimes wonder why he wanted me in the first place. I haven't exactly been much of a help to him. And Scoobert, the stray dog I found a few years back and who happens to be my best friend, doesn't always make this better. He tries to behave. Really. But sometimes his appetite gets the better of him... like I know mine does too, but I can't see how Mr. Whitefield makes any more money with an apprentice than he did without one if he has to feed both of us like this._

_I haven't talked much to his daughter, Elma, but one time she did vaguely hint that Mr. Whitefield sort of wished he had a son and that's the real reason he got an apprentice. Like what if she's right? What if I'm just a name to fill an empty slot and that's it? I wish I could talk more to Elma, though. She actually seems pretty smart, even though her father doesn't act like she is. Either that or he wishes she wasn't. Every now and then Mr. Whitefield and I might be talking, and she'll be standing in the doorway, as if she really, really wants to talk to us... but she never does. The last time Mr. Whitefield noticed (which is rare), he muttered something about how he wishes he could find a suitor for her, but who would marry such a nearsighted girl who reads constantly and cannot properly embroider? In a selfish way, I'm kind of glad he can't find one, because sometimes I do get tired of talking to Mr. Whitefield. He's a good man... but sometimes he makes me feel like I can't do anything right. Then again, he's not the first person to act that way, as my last master showed._

_Maybe I really can't do anything right. Maybe I'm just too clumsy._

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**A/N: Just saying that it seems to me that Shaggy's dialogue would be the same in any century. You would be surprised, but I actually find it harder to write like Shaggy than to write like a colonial person.**


	6. Frederick Torn

**A/N: I know, long time, no update... I've had a lot of homework last week and I was on a field trip over the weekend, up until a few hours ago. But here, the new entry is now up!**

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The four friends looked at each other, now that each had a complete image of Norville, Frederick, Daphina, and Elma fixed upon in their minds.

"Velma... you were the first to read," Daphne suggested. "Why don't you read another entry now?"

"We don't have time to read the whole thing," Velma pointed out.

"Okay... so we should probably skip ahead then," Freddie suggested.

"Or we could just read what we can now and finish some other time."

A thought crossed Daphne's mind as she recalled several subsequent entries. "No, let's jump ahead to the next... interesting part," she said, hoping not to sound too nervous.

The only person who caught her nervousness was Fred, who felt a little of his own. "Yeah... we can just skip ahead a few months, I think..."

"Okay..." Velma looked disappointed, but she gave in.

"Here... I'll read now, we don't have to go in order..." Fred said quickly. He flipped forward (he had to make sure it was far _enough _forward), to nearly a year later, and began.

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_December 12,1774_

_Another year has passed us, and I regret to say I am most unfortunate to still not be engaged to Daphina. The reasons are numerous, but I am fearful for one in particular._

_Mr. Harriot has yet to provide me with a straight answer as to whether or not such a marriage would be permissable. I have inquired multiple times, to no avail. I believe he has suspicions concerning my political loyalties; it is the extent of my abilities to avoid discussions on the matter. If ever he were to inquire directly I fear I know not what to say. I am greatly in love with Daphina, yet I could not truthfully tell her father I agree with his Loyalist beliefs._

_As of late I find myself siding with the Patriots more and more. It isn't merely a question of taxes, as Mr. Harriot commonly insists. It is a question of whether or not humanity deserves a voice. Is it right to impose these taxes upon a people who cannot state whether they believe in them?_

_I cannot state where it was, exactly, that my loyalties shifted, and yet I believe it may have something to do with last September... where I believe I mentioned the formation of the Continental Congress. I found it quite admirable that so many people could insist that their voice be heard, that they would dare present to the King their beliefs as to rights that should be given to the colonists. Unfortunately, the King is now angry, and has even declared that Massachusetts is in a state of rebellion. Might military action be called for? Rumor has it the Congress has made military preparations already._

_A thought that has plagued me for the past two weeks nearly is one I only now have the courage to record. Perhaps, if it truly comes down to the need to fight for liberty (and I pray dearly it does not), it might be for the greater good that I join this battle. I know not why it is of such necessity; only that I somehow must. The Patriots will likely be overwhelmingly outnumbered; I could add but one more soldier, and yet it is _one _more soldier to their efforts._

_And then at the very moment I find my enthusiasm and hope mounting, I feel like I am once again falling, as another reality grips me. If I reveal my true loyalties, I will almost certainly lose any right to marry Daphina. Would her father ever stand to have her married to a Patriot? Could I possibly marry her and then admit my political position? And what if then Daphina were to feel betrayed? She respects her father, I am sure of it. Does her respect for her father outweigh her love for me?_

_Then again, does my desire to got to war outweigh my love for her? I should think that it certainly does not. Yet somehow I feel I must anyway, not at all because I don't love her, but perhaps because I am an idealist. Perhaps because I envision a future in which I can live in a country free from tyranny while at the same time live with a beautiful, kind, beloved woman._

_If that is what I am to have, then I must prepare._


	7. Elma Longing

_December 20, 1774_

_Christmastide is but a few days away. I fear that Norville, Father, and I shall have little chance to observe it. The shop has been doing poorly as of late. Father has been ill, so responsibility rests with Norville and me. I try not to make my contributions to the matter too noticeable, for I believe Father is ashamed of my working for anything beyond our little house above the store. I do not wish his concern to ail him further, but I do wish he would realize that one person could not manage the shop on his own. It is our business, not our home, which needs effort as of late. Father does not see that._

_He is still seeking a suitor for me, but his illness has prevented him from searching too much. After the failure of the attempts I mentioned last summer, I am rather apprehensive at the thought of any other potential husbands crossing our threshold. I suppose it is my duty to marry eventually, but few men are truly interested in one who spends more time in study than in housework. Why must a woman's hand fit a needle better than a quill?_

_And yet through all of this I find I have a growing respect for Norville. He is not quite the same incompetent boy he was a year ago. And he does not think me at all strange for reading so much. I was rather surprised when I came to this conclusion, for he himself reads next to nothing at all. Yet it is he who supplies me with those newspaper articles, the ones which tell of the impending conflict. Some speculate that perhaps there will even be warfare between the colonies and England. I suspect Norville obtains these newspapers from Father, for one they have been declining since he began to ail, and two I often receive them after Norville and Father hold those conversations behind closed doors, the doors I listen at to absorb every last word the men say. Unfortunately, little can be heard from the door to Father's bedroom, the location of the majority of such talks as of late. If only Father could more often leave his sickbed! Yet the more I do manage to learn from my eavesdropping, the more depressed I feel at how ignorant Father expects me to be. It is rather painful, really, and were it not for Norville and Daphina I fear I might have gone mad by now._

_Alas, I must admit I find a guilty comfort when _asked_ to comfort. Daphina is currently facing a predicament quite opposite of my own: Where I have no suitor and a father who wants us wed, she has a suitor and a father who has yet to grant permission for their marriage. Today my friend jokingly confided that perhaps by the time her father permitted her union, she would be an old maid undesirable to Frederick. Of course the both of us knew that was untrue, as Frederick is so determinedly in love with Daphina he would marry her were she eighty years old. Hopefully, Mr. Harriot will not take so long in deciding. Were it not for my understanding of my friends' character, I would begin to wonder at what point they might simply elope._

_The strange part of it is that I feel I can deduce more from Daphina's description of the situation than she can from the experience. Either that or my friend does not wish to tell me everything, which I find quite unlikely. I believe that Mr. Harriot's refusal thus far is rooted not in fear that Frederick will be unfaithful, or that he will treat Daphina cruelly, or that he is unable to properly provide for a wife, or that his character is in any way flawed; but rather his refusal is rooted in politics. Mr. Harriot is undoubtedly a Tory; if I am not mistaken he served in the British army in his youth. I am inclined to believe, however, that Frederick is a Patriot, from what little conversation I have with him. In some strange way, for reasons I can ground in very little, I almost wonder if I would not serve in the Patriot army were I a man._

_Perhaps it is because I understand very much the feeling of being dominated by a force in which I have no say, of being considered inferior, of having every peaceful attempt at requesting my rights dismissed as being the words of the ignorant._

_I am a woman, am I not?_


	8. Norville Thinking

_December 24, 1774_

_Christmas Eve. Mr. Whitefield, Elma, and I are finally going to get a day off! Like I could really use that, and so could Mr. Whitefield... but I think Elma needs it more than either of us. Although Mr. Whitefield doesn't like to admit it, she's really been keeping our head above water lately. He hasn't really been feeling well enough to keep track of anything, and I never was any good at math, so if she wasn't doing all the bookkeeping I don't know what we would do._

_She seemed pretty tired tonight, after I brought her the newspaper. She went through half a candlestick, but she did get everything finished. I kind of hung around in the shop until she was done. I really hope I didn't distract her, but she told me that I didn't and she liked having some company. I asked her what _was _bothering her, then. She told me after she was finished and had looked at the newspaper._

_I really wasn't expecting it._

_You know all those times Mr. Whitefield asks me to start debating politics or something like that (actually, it's mostly _him _debating politics and_ me _sitting and nodding at just about everything he says)? Well... Elma knows what we talk about (actually, better than I do... way better than I do). She really wants to share her thoughts with _someone _but except for her friend Daphina, who has enough problems of her own, and the perpetually (okay, Elma taught me that word... I hope I'm using it right!) unfruitful stream of suitors, she doesn't really get to talk to very many people._

_So we went for a walk. Yes, that late at night. It really wasn't cold out at all. And Elma explained everything in a way that actually made sense to me, much more sense than the newspapers or Mr. Whitefield. She explained everything I've been missing over the past several years, about the taxes, about the tension (another word of hers) between us and England, about how we might even go to war._

_We were just rounding the bend that leads to the river when she asked me point-blank._

_"Norville?" she questioned._

_"Yeah?" I answered. I love the way she didn't wince when I said that, like everybody else does "in regards to his hideously casual speech."_

_"Norville... if somebody gave you the chance to fight in this war, if it did happen... would you fight?"_

_I answered no instinctively. She seemed vaguely troubled for a minute, but relieved as well._

_"But Norville... if you were going... what side would you be on?"_

_The idea of going to war itself was really scary, so I had to think on that a while. Finally, I told her, "I guess the Patriots..."_

_"So you wouldn't be upset about people going to fight for them? People... people you know?"_

_I shook my head no._

_She smiled. "I guess... I guess I just wish..."_

_I waited, but she shook herself. Then she didn't say anything._

_"You wish...?"_

_"Well... I know sometimes Father wishes I were his son. And lately I've been wishing the same thing."_

_That really caught me off-guard. I didn't know what to say._

_"I mean... I want to fight too. Except I can't. I guess... I guess some small part of me was hoping I could sort of... live through you. That you would maybe go off and... but what am I saying?" She seemed almost like she was talking to herself now. "I wouldn't want you to go!"_

_That sounded good, somehow. I can't exactly put my finger on why._

_"Well..." I answered, trying to find the right thing to say. "I guess we just have to be glad you aren't a man. Because I wouldn't want you to go either."_

_"Jinkies..." she muttered._

_"What?"_

_She blushed. "I have no idea what I just said. It sounds good, though. Maybe I'll have to say it again sometime!"_

_I laughed. She continued._

_"And then I suppose if Father had a son... he never would have hired you."_

_I pondered this. She was right. And if Mr. Whitefield had not hired me... I don't suppose anyone would._

_And then what? For the first time in my life since coming here, I feel like I can actually do something, that I'm not entirely bad at everything. I feel like I'm with people who accept me, and will talk to me. I feel like there really are people who care about me. I can't imagine _not _coming here._

_We turned and walked back to the house, still talking, but about more carefree stuff, stuff like crazy things we did when we were kids. Elma muttered that made-up word, "Jinkies," a few more times, earning laughter from me every time._

_I felt really bad when I finally had to say good night to my one true friend in the world._


End file.
